


For All Our Worst Days

by StarlightSoul (SaraSauce)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: But they are okay after, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Children Being Violent, Din would also die for a single child, Fall of Mandalore, Harm to Children, Mandalorian!Reader - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Other, Pre Canon, Reader was Raised on Mandalore, Reader would die for a single child, Slow Burn, Twenty years worth of pining, and also during canon, idiots to lovers, so much yearning, technically Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraSauce/pseuds/StarlightSoul
Summary: The life long love story if you and Din Djarin.Told from the very beginning, on the first worst day of your life.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Reader, Reader & Original Characters, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	1. Bated Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! I hope you enjoy the first, tension-filled drabble to start us off! Chapter length will probably vary a lot as we go, depending on how that chapter goes. But we'll take that as it comes. For now, hope you have fun!

The day you met Din Djarrin, Mandalore was burning. _Your home_ was burning. And the Empire was on the planet’s doorstep.

You were fourteen and had earned your two years before. Your cousin was in orbit - the best pilot in your clan, trying desperately to hold back the tide of dropships that rain down to the surface.

By the fourth hour of fighting one thing had become clear, even from where you stood, blaster in hand, by the doorway of the foundling’s bunks. The kids your family was in charge of protecting.

You were the only one of your clan left with them. And Mandolore’s armies were dying by the thousands.

It was clear, really, by then, what you had to do.

But you’d never liked running from a fight, and the thought made hot bile rise in your throat as if trying to burn through the steely cold determination that sat steady in your chest, beneath the Raithe-dragon signet adorning your chest plate.

You turned to the oldest and took a deep breath through your nose, nodding towards the others before handing him your blaster. Eleven-year-old Mes Ver, orphaned during the Clone Wars like so many of the others. You didn’t miss the way he stood up straighter, held himself more like your Aunt. Made himself stronger for the others. “You know what to do. I’m going to get us a ship.” You face the others and match their wide eyes with your unflinching visor. “Get your bags and be ready to leave in an hour.” You opened up the weapons locker and pull out no less than five blasters and a plasma rifle that you sling over your back. You were fourteen and every single gun looks far too big on your frame. But you knew how to carry the weight by now. You handed a comm to Mes and looked back at the nine younglings in front of you. Most likely the last evidence of your clan after today. You took a deep breath and nodded once. “This is The Way.”

You open the door to the sound of the echoing response. 


	2. Hangar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You find a ship and four more foundlings to save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I'm just going feral and busting these things out in an hour its great fun.

You nearly tripped when an explosion rattled through the hangar, a shudder ringing and echoing through your bones. 

At least it was in the opposite direction from the younglings.

No time to stop and figure out what that was; you marched through the messy, crowded, panicked garage, credits hanging safely in the pouch on your side.

And no one was listening to you. You don’t know if it was your short stature, your signet, or your voice, but they knew you were a child and sneered down at you.

At least the tradesmen left did. Most anyone with their armor was out fighting. 

_Fighting like you should be, coward._

No. _No._

You took a breath a stood still for a moment, catching your breath and forcing the guilt out of your throat, scanning the hangar for options. You only needed to get to the next unoccupied planet. You would figure it out from there. You were doing your job. There were more important things at stake than your honor. Than fighting with your clan on the front lines.

There. 

A small, evasive DeathWatch ship. A scarred, beautiful blue.

Just what you needed.

So you ignored the bitter taste on your tongue as you bee-lined to meet the pair arguing outside it. Your opinion of them didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. _It didn’t matter._ There were more important things at stake than your pride.

You stopped in front of the two, back straight and proud despite the roiling in your chest at the blue armor adorning them both.

They were arguing in Mando’a. About who got to fight. But you could tell the tall woman held authority here and was about two sentences away from telling the short one to run firearms drills or something equally mundane - something mundane while anyone else dies in battle. The shorter one - only about three inches taller than you - his Mando’a was stilted, clumsy. Offworld accent. 

A foundling then. And about your age, too.

You ignored him then and turned to the adult eyeing your signet with distaste.

But those who valued the creed took care of younglings from any clan.

You swallowed your pride along with the lump in your throat. “I need transport for nine foundlings off-planet.” Your fists clenched at your side when you paused and eyed the one in the barely-scuffed, not-yet horribly scarred armor. The one with the stilted Mando’a and a voice that cracked and echoed in his helmet he had not yet grown into. “How many do you have?”

The tall one stared at you for a moment, before looking at her companion. Her shoulders were taut and her hand shot to the blaster when another explosion rattled through the garage. But she sized you up. And she nodded. “We have three others.” She reached for the small one’s shoulder and held it tight like she was trying to press her message into his skin. “You have your bag. Get the others and go to the ship. Protect them at all costs. I’ll clear a path for you all.”

“I’m not leaving-” He started, but got cut off by the other.

 _“This is The Way._ ”

A pause.

“...This is The Way.”

“They need you, _Din_. Keep them safe.”

The kid looked at you and you knew he was glaring under that helmet, but he nodded.

There were more important things to worry about.

...

_Din._


End file.
